I inhale and then breathe out slowly as we grab our smoothies, mine banana mango tango, Cheyenne’s triple berry blast. We walk around the mall since there’s nowhere to sit. I must not be holding my shoulders in close enough because a woman carrying a dozen shopping bags barrels past us, bumping my arm hard and almost throwing me and my banana mango tango to the floor. She doesn’t even pause to apologize.
“Rude!” I shout, rubbing my arm.
“You okay?” Cheyenne asks. For some strange reason, the question makes my eyes water. I wipe at them, embarrassed. “Hey.” Her voice softens. “What’s going on?”
I fidget with my straw, throat too tight to take a sip. “It’s nothing.”
“Shosh,” Cheyenne says in her warning tone.
I’m just being sensitive. Like, seriously, who cries because someone bumped into their shoulder? And who gets upset because their friend bought them a smoothie? And yeah, my moms missed Latkepalooza, and that’s not a great feeling because it’s a night we’ve celebrated together my entire life, but they missed it to work at their jobs, so there’s no reason to be all emotional about it. And mentioning any of this to Cheyenne would make it a thing, and it’s definitely not a thing.
“Shosh?” Cheyenne prods again, her warm eyes zeroed in on me. She’s wearing an oversize knit sweater today, the sleeves so long they cloak her fingers as she holds her smoothie.
“It’s nothing,” I say quickly, and then smile. It’s a genuine smile—just knowing my friend is there for me if I want to talk means the world. “I promise. Ooh, look, Santa’s Workshop!”
Cheyenne accepts my subject-change with a chipper shout of “Santa!”
“You do know Santa isn’t real, right?” I ask. “I’ve accidentally broken that news to so many gentiles over the years. Maybe that’s why people hate Jews.”
Cheyenne snorts. “Ha, ha. Of course I know he isn’t real. But it’s fun to see the kids all happy before the harsh realities of the world are shoved in their faces. C’mon. Let’s watch.”
I glance at my phone. “Okay, but then I’ve got to head back to work.” I still have fifteen minutes left of my break, but if I get back early, that’s fifteen extra minutes to sell more books. I bet I’m way in the lead but no harm in getting way, way in the lead.
“How are things going with Jake?” Cheyenne asks as we walk over to Santa.
Jake. Jake the jerk with his stubble and flannel and freaking baked-goods aroma. “Not great,” I reply. “He’s kind of an ass.”
“But he’s got a good ass, right?” Her suggestive tone makes my skin flush.
“How would you know?” I raise my eyebrows. “You’ve never met him.”
She smirks. “I can just tell by the way you talk about him.”
“Oh my god. Please stop,” I say.
But, the thing is, she’s not wrong.
Cheyenne laughs and wraps an arm around me. We make it to the outside of the line, which zigzags through the better half of the north wing. Kids shout and scream while parents scroll on their phones. The music blasts even louder here, currently playing Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas Is You.” This song always gives me the urge to watch Love, Actually, which always makes me wish there were also an epic Hanukkah romance movie.
I look toward the stage and see it’s blanketed in fake snow and decorated with a red sleigh and reindeer and a sign for the North Pole. It’s really quite cute. There are even two elves! And Santa is laughing a jolly laugh, and he… huh. Santa looks familiar, brown skin and warm eyes I’d recognize anywhere—
“Oh. My. God.” I hold a hand over my mouth so I don’t break into hysterical laughter.
Cheyenne stares in shock.
“Is that—” A snort of laughter breaks out despite my most valiant efforts.
She holds up a finger. “Do not.”
“But is that—”
“Stop. Talking.”
“Cheyenne, is that your dad?”
“Oh my god.” Cheyenne shoves her face in her hands and groans so loudly a couple of parents in line turn and stare at us. Her voice comes out with the dramatic delivery of an actress performing her Oscar-winning role. “How could he do this to me?”
I’m full-out laughing now. Cheyenne shoots me a death glare, and I try to tamp down the giggles. “Well, to be fair,” I say. “I don’t think he’s doing it to you. C’mon, look how adorable he is with those kids! This is the best!”
“Ho, ho, ho!” Mr. Herman bellows. Cheyenne groans louder. Two kids stand before him, beaming up with grins of wonderment. An elf snaps the picture, and then another elf ushers the happy kids off the stage.
Cheyenne moans. “This is so embarrassing.”
“No it’s not,” I say. “It’s great! Let’s go say hi!”
“We are not—”
But I’m already tugging Cheyenne’s arm and walking around the side to the front of the line. “Mr. Herman! Mr. Herman!” I call out, waving my free hand. Mr. Herman, as Santa, looks over in a panic, and I realize I’ve almost blown his cover. “I mean, Santa! Look! I have your favorite elf here!”
Mr. Herman catches on quickly. “Ho, ho, ho! My favorite two elves here for a visit. Come over and—”
“Nope!” Cheyenne shouts, spinning around and dashing away from the North Pole. I chase after her, almost knocking into a trio of preteen boys on skateboards in the sardine-packed mall, as Cheyenne continues to say, “Shoshanna, it’s my dad. Dressed as Santa. Saying ‘ho, ho, ho.’ Oh my god. What if Anna sees him? This is too embarrassing. I can’t—”
I feel the tiniest twinge of annoyance as she speaks. Mr. Herman was so happy to see his daughter. He wanted Cheyenne to spend time with him. My moms were ecstatic when I got my job at Once Upon. They showed up at the end of my first shift with a tray of rainbow-frosting cupcakes to share with the entire staff. It was too dang nice to be embarrassing. After that, they’d drop in on random occasions to browse, buy gifts, or treat me to lunch at the food court. All these little things I loved but never thought about much. Now, it would feel surreal to see Mama bringing me an Auntie Anne’s pretzel or to find Mom trailing her finger along the spines of the mystery section.
But it’s not right to be annoyed at Cheyenne when I haven’t told her what’s going on at home. And, to be fair, I’ve never witnessed my moms in elf costumes. That might be a sight I couldn’t recover from.
As we head back toward our respective stores, Cheyenne pulls out her phone and calls someone. A few seconds later she breathlessly says, “Mom? Yeah, hi.” Her eyes are wide and wild with panic. “There’s an emergency.”
Chapter Five
For the next few hours, I lose myself to bookselling, racking up sale after sale, peddling five copies of the first Time Stands Still book alone, not to mention plenty of memoirs, romances, and adorable picture books. My own to-be-read pile has grown to Jack-and-the-Beanstalk heights, and I can’t wait for these holiday double shifts to be over so I have more time to actually read.